uair amháin
by foolondahill17
Summary: A might-have-been tale had Kili survived. From the perspective of Bard's eldest daughter whom is suddenly the daughter of the king of Dale. It is no longer the simple yearning of a peasant girl, neither the courtship of two kingdoms, but the dabbling in forbidden love. Of duty and loyalty, rebellion and kin: a longwinded, slightly off-beat two-shot-plus-epilogue.
1. Not at Home

Title: uair amháin

Summary: A might-have-been tale had Kili survived. From the perspective of Bard's eldest daughter whom is suddenly the daughter of the king of Dale. It is no longer the simple yearning of a peasant girl, neither the courtship of two kingdoms, but the dabbling in forbidden love. Of duty and loyalty, rebellion and kin: a longwinded, slightly off-beat two-shot-plus-epilogue.

Rater: K+ for…nothing really, sort-of dark themes at worse

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, neither Tolkien's nor Peter Jackson's

Author's Note: This is an alternate ending, mind you, not a sequel to _milis agus searbh_. But please, please, ever-so-pretty please check out _milis agus searbh_ on my profile. It is an exploration of the bittersweet taste of youth's first love and loss.

Eventually Kili/Sigrid – who don't have a couple name yet, unless it's kigrid or maybe sigri

The Scene: Takes place two and a half years after the Battle of the Five Armies in which Kili survived along with Thorin but Fili perished. Erebor is now reclaimed and Kili is second heir of the line of Durin. Sigrid parted ways with him because she is nothing more than a daughter of a ferryman and vagabond – except she isn't, not anymore. The people have made her father king of Dale and they call her princess. It is early spring.

The title is in Gaelic and so is Sigrid's lullaby

* * *

_uair amháin_

(Once)

Chapter One – Not at Home:

There was a twang of a bow, a hiss of air, and before she had a chance to duck or even scream, an arrow embedded itself in the tree by her head, hitting the bark with a dull thump.

She turned to face her attacker, forgetting that it would perhaps be better to run. There was no one there. Her heart beat a rhythm against her ribs. Her hands went cold.

She thought of monsters – orcs that haunted her dreams, but in reality thought that a dwarf guard was more likely.

"Who are you whom trespasses upon the realm of the King Under the Mountain?" said a voice. She peered into the thicket of trees and undergrowth, finding her voice was lost in her throat. Leaves were undisturbed by anything but a breath of wind, hissing and winding its arms through the wood. She could still detect no royal guard, but knew she had a readied bow trained for her head.

"I meant no harm, my lord," she said, finding her voice at last and raising her hands to shoulder height. "I come from Dale. I had not meant to trespass. I knew not I had passed your border."

Rustling leaves and the parting of branches and a stocky figure emerged from the brush, clothed in a dark cloak and hood that hid his face. He shouldered his bow, still cautious but marginally lowering his guard.

"You are but a girl," said he, his voice was deep, tipped with wariness. "You are –" He stopped as though his voice had been severed sharply with a knife. "But surely you are –" He threw his hood away from his face.

Her heart faltered against her ribs. She thought for a moment she was going to faint. Surely it could not be – what demon had lead him there, led _her_ there – She dropped to her knees in fluid habit.

"My lord, forgive me, I had not known –" It was not his proper title. She had been drilled with the proper names that etiquette required. She knew what she was supposed to say but she somehow couldn't. It meant speaking his name. _Kili, sister's son of Thorin, King Under the Mountain, son of Thrain, son of Thror._ He was little changed, but his whiskers had gotten heavier.

She could not bring herself to look at his face. She stared at the dirt and twigs at his feet.

"My lady," said he, "there is nothing to forgive, Sigrid daughter of Bard, decedent of Girion, Lord of Dale." Her eyes flickered upward at his voice and she was astonished to see that he too had dropped to one knee on the forest floor.

He rose and stowed his bow to its quiver on his back. He took a step forward, extending his hand. She rose quickly before he could reach her, conscious that it was improper and against etiquette, but conscious also that she could not touch his hand.

"But what brings you here, my lady?" he asked. "It is not safe for a girl of your stature to wander these lands unaccompanied. Where are your maids, your guards –?"

"In Dale," she said, "unaware of my absence."

A shadow of something that might have once been called a smile flitted across his lips. "You might ask me the same question, and I would give the same answer. In Erebor, unaware of their sire's leave."

Sigrid knew not what to say. The last time she had seen him she had been skulking in the corner of a tent, been shooed away from his prone body by a woman who said she was his mother and more fit to tend her wounded than Sigrid. He had been nearly out of his mind with pain and fever – grief – unaware of her presence. Sigrid had left and not looked back. She had heard tell from stranger's lips of his brother's passing, his uncle's rein, his princeship of Erebor.

"You have grown," he said against the backdrop of the fluttering leave and twitter of birds, the exhale of the wind. "More beautiful than I remember, my lady."

Sigrid became aware that her cheeks were glowing warm. She was a woman now, twenty summers in only months. She could not properly recall her shape and contours when she had first met him, but perhaps it was true. Perhaps she was more beautiful. She had never thought of herself as becoming, perhaps only a charitable pretty. She was not accustomed to be so baldly complimented by young men.

Her father was beginning to drop hints of courtship.

"Your sister, little Tilda, how does she bode?" His voice was perhaps gruffer than she remembered. Something in his face had gone grim. He smiled but no light met his eyes. But perhaps it was only the flitting shadows of the wood.

"Tilda is well, my lord," said Sigrid.

"And your brother, Bain?"

"Bain also fares well," said Sigrid. "He has grown to be a strong man. Unlike my father in some ways but a proud heir nonetheless."

"And you," he prompted. "How does nobility become you?"

Sigrid felt her stomach twisting in astonishment and confusion. She was not yet fully conscious that this was really happening, not but a dream spawned from restless sleep. Or madness.

"I am well, my lord," she said, her lips moving of their own accord.

"It used to be Kili," he said. "Sigrid."

"You were a traveling dwarf then, my lord. I was a peasant girl and daughter of a ferryman. You were not the heir to a throne, nor was I the daughter of a king of men."

"Yes," said he slowly. "much has changed since then, hasn't it?" It may have been phrased as a question but Sigrid knew it was not. His voice was laced with sorrow, something that told of bitterness.

"And you, my lord," she said hastily. "But how are you?"

The shadow again passed his face. Her heart twisted and she immediately wished she could withdraw the words of her tongue. His brother dead – the kindly, fair-haired dwarf whom had begged her please, bring his brother something for the pain –

"I am well, my lady," he said at last.

"Even your voice has changed," it was almost as if he had not meant to say it. Perhaps his lips, too, sometimes spoke out of turn.

She looked at him and perhaps a bit of her puzzlement showed from her eyes for he continued hastily, "You speak so formally now…. Your voice is so clear."

"Duty calls for it, my lord," Sigrid said, feeling uncomfortable in turn. She hadn't realized it was so noticeable. She had abandoned her slurred speech and peasant accents early on, conscious that they were unbefitting for a king's daughter.

"Yes, I suppose it does," he said. "Duty calls for much."

"Yes, my lord." She wished to leave. This pounding in her chest and rush of her blood was making her lightheaded. She could barely breathe for the familiarity in his eyes, his face, and his voice. She had never thought she'd see him again, had never wanted to – only in the fevered recess of her dreams had she allowed her mind to fly to places she could not go in body or waking thought.

"What were you doing out here?" he asked, raising a hand to indicate the wood, the trees, the shadows lingering among their branches.

"Taking a walk," Sigrid said quickly. "I hadna realized I'd strayed so far." Had not. She _had not_ realized it.

"The trees are a comfort," he said, as if he understood her.

"Yes, my lord."

"Please, Sigrid, don't," he said suddenly. There was something in his voice that tasted of bridled passion. "We might have been friends, had things not come about the way they did. Please, let us not be so formal."

Another flicker of a smile. Something darkened in his eyes that made Sigrid's stomach stumble. She was suddenly pointedly aware that she was alone in a wood with a young man – a young man that Sigrid had once thought – but Sigrid had only been a child then…. But it was a situation entirely new for her.

"Tisn't proper," she whispered.

"It isn't _not_ proper, Sigrid," he answered. "We aren't only that traveling dwarf or peasant girl anymore. I am an heir of Durin," he spoke as if the words gave him physical pain. But it was come and gone before she could properly notice it. "You are the daughter of a king. We belong to two kingdoms that have lived in peaceful cohabitation centuries before and centuries to the future. There's no reason why we cannot be friends."

"That may be so," Sigrid's cheeks were burning, a phenomenon that she had not been able to be rid of since she was a little girl. She was uncomfortable aware her face was flushed red and could only hope the shadow of the trees might hide it. "But – but I am still – and you, you are –" She trailed away, not knowing what she had begun to say in the first place.

He was smiling now almost in earnest. "You don't mind if I call you Sigrid, do you?"

"Ney, my lord," she whispered, barely opening her lips. "You may do as you will."

"And you will call me Kili?" he said.

"If you will," she breathed, mystified as to how her voice managed to creep up her throat.

"Good," he said. "Come with me to Erebor, I will show you what we have done. I don't suspect you've seen anything more than ruins of our kingdom."

"I – I can't," Sigrid said, unconsciously faltering backwards as he took a step toward her, hand extended. "They will be wondering where I have gotten to. It is a long way back and I should hasten if I do not want to be missed."

"Then come with me so that I might lend you a pony, give you an escort –"

"Ney," she shook her head. It was hard to talk, hard to breathe, hard to think. "I – they will ask questions if they realize I'd been gone. I – I do this often and would rather they stay ignorant." Her cheeks were flaming furiously.

He laughed shortly, a sound that was neither easy nor merry, but shaded with a tone of bitterness, even though he appeared to be quite light-hearted.

"Let me walk with you, then," he said. "I'll lend you the protection of my bow."

"The woods are safe. I should not wish to impose."

"Years ago we showed up at your father's house and did not ask whether or not we could impose," his voice was tired and etched with sorrow, but again masked by the almost smile set on his lips. "Please, it's the least I can do."

He might have taken it for a pondering pause, but in truth Sigrid could not work her throat. "If you will," she said finally.

* * *

"Hush," she whispered, words flying from her lips unbidden. She placed a damp rag on his forehead. She recalled him days before in her house, fevered from a poisoned orc wound. She had done the same thing then. He had been yelling, nearly out of his mind with pain then, too.

Just as it had then, his hand flew out, flailing wildly in his delirium and pain. Her fingers caught his. She eased his arm to his side and allowed his fingers to entwine around her palm tightly, squeezing her hand until it hurt and she no longer had feeling in her fingertips. She did not pull away.

Her throat was clogged from tears. Her ears rang from his screams. He was much worse now than he had been then. He'd been pierced by sword and arrow, lost so much blood. Sigrid's skirt was drenched through from kneeling at his bedside, stained red.

"Ye willna die. Ye canna die…" she spoke but she could not hear her own words over the volume of his yells. She could not hear the orders of the dwarf surgeon working beside her, nor hear her own thoughts pounding through her head.

She became aware that words were coming up her throat, but she could not discern what they were. Hours might have passed and his yelling quieted and her voice slipped gently into her ears, a lullaby often sung to Tilda when she had woken crying from a nightmare:

"_Codladh anois, leanbh ciúin_

_Ná caoin, ná bíodh imní ort_

_Tá tú sábháilte, tá tú anseo_

_I mo lámha, ná caoin." _

She recalled the words in her mother's voice, a voice not heard for many years, when Sigrid had been a child younger than Tilda. Sigrid's voice was nothing like her mother's, which had been soothing and gentle, like a bubbling brook. Sigrid's voice was coarse and broken. She had never been able to carry a tune.

A hand touched her shoulder and Sigrid looked up. Another dwarf stood behind her, a dwarf with no beard but was obviously much older than Kili. Sigrid realized it was a woman. There were wrinkles of sorrow on her forehead and around her eyes. Soft, almost transparent fuzz covered her upper lip and jaw. Side whiskers the color of muted brown touched by gray were braided carefully over her jaw bone. Her hair was dark despite the salting of white, swept careless away from her face. She might have look regal, had it not been for sorrow and weariness etched onto her every line and angle.

Sigrid's voice was lost in her throat. The woman's eyes were darkened by mourning but kind, her voice gentle as she eased Sigrid to the side.

"My brother will live. It is time I tend my son. Go child, this is a mother's place."

Sigrid moved by compulsion, as if the woman's voice was somehow an enchantment. She forgot her hand was entwined in Kili's and he groaned as she tugged away. The dwarf woman – his mother – dropped to her knees and gently eased Sigrid's fingers away, her own taking their place.

Sigrid retreated until her back hit the wall of the tent. The woman – Kili's mother – wetted a rag and placed it on her son's forehead. She took up her own song, something that Sigrid had never heard before, something out of the folds of time and in the dwarves' own tongue.

Sigrid thought of the elf, the one with the blond hair, the one who had come to fight off the orcs at the house along with his kinswomen. She had stumbled upon him among the rows of dead. Sigrid had been there to search for Kili, because he had not been found yet. The elf had been kneeling by the still body of his kinswoman, the same with the auburn hair. He had been muttering beneath his breath, just audible against the whistle of the wind, something that sounded like a prayer or a song or an enchantment, a salutation of grief without tears, a sealing of the dead –

But no, Kili was not going to die. This was not – this was not his mother's farewell. She was not –

Sigrid felt bile rise in her throat and suddenly she was outside. She could feel the cold air penetrating her sodden skirts, whipping against her hair and eyes as she ran away. She could not look back. She would not stand there to watch him die, to watch his mother bid him final leave….

When she returned to the town, to the makeshift tent they had raised in stead of their dragon-fire ruined cabin, Tilda had screamed.

"Your hurt! Sigrid, your legs!"

Sigrid had looked down to see her dress stained dark brown from Kili's blood. Suddenly she was on her knees and Tilda was in her arms.

"Hush, Tilda. I'm alrigh'. I amna' hurt. 'Tisna' my blood."

She ran her fingers through her little sister's hair. Tilda was shaking. Sigrid's words came back to her, whispered before she'd departed to tend the wounded:

_"I'll be back. I'll be fine. You stay with Bain. I won' be but a little while."_

_"Please, don'." _

_"I'll come back. I will. I promise, I will."_

And Kili's voice came to her.

_"You're too young a' die."_

_"I won't die." _

And Sigrid was gently easing her sister's arms from around her neck.

"I hav'a wash, Tilda. I'll be righ' back."

"Sigrid, Da?"

"He's alrigh'."

Relief clouded Tilda's eyes with tears. "Wha' about the dwarves, Sigrid? Fili and Kili, Bofur and Oin. Are they alrigh', too?"

"I dunna know, Tilda." And Sigrid's voice almost broke. She breathed deeply, trying to ease the pressure in her throat.

"Le' me come with ye," said Tilda.

Sigrid almost said no, stay with Bain, but Tilda's eyes were shining and she was trembling, perhaps with cold, and she was so afraid and Sigrid had already left her too many times before, and Sigrid, too, was trembling.

"Aye, Tilda, come with me."

They went to a nook off the lake, where it bled into a stream and collected into a little pool. They had always gone there to bathe. Woman brought their children there to wash and their clothes. It was a private corner, surrounded by trees where no one would trespass, not today. Not when all the woman were still at the battlefield, tending the wounded and dead, and the children were left frightened in the skeletal remains of their houses.

Sigrid broke the ice at the surface. The water was frigid. It made her fingers ache and knuckles bleed in stripes. She washed her skirt but the stain would not come out. She kneaded it with her fingers and ice but the blood – Kili's blood – hung to the threads. She saw that her legs, too, dripped with red and she submerged them into the water.

Her skin was flushed with gooseflesh. Her shoulders shook. She scrubbed and batted at her flesh, turning red from the cold so that she could no longer tell the difference from the blood and her skin.

The blood would not come out. She scrape at her skin, her fingernails leaving traces of their own. She emerged herself fully in the pool, thrashing against the creeping, sticky warm that was the blood.

"Sigrid…" said Tilda's voice.

She took off her cloak and wetted it, using it as a rag to scrub her legs. Now it was between her fingers, hot and sticky and wouldn't go away….

Tilda's arms were around her again. Sigrid became aware that tears were running down her cheeks.

"Hush, Sigrid. Don'. You're alrigh'. Don' cry…."

Sigrid's shoulders were shaking. Her whole body was shaking, naked sitting on the edge of a frozen pool. Slowly Sigrid realized that it was the water between her fingers and running down her legs, not blood. Her skin was red from cold but not blood. She pulled her legs up to her chest and Tilda wrapped her arms around her. Tilda's body was warm. Tilda was trembling but perhaps that was only Sigrid.

"Come," said Tilda's voice softly in Sigrid's ear. "Put on your cloak. Le's ge' home and ge' ye warm."

* * *

"Sigrid?" Tilda was almost thirteen summers now. She'd grown to be almost Sigrid's height. Tilda could sing like a lark, and very often did, in the castle's corridors and about the castle's grounds, in the village and in the wood, making a spectacle of herself.

Sigrid turned for her chamber's doorway, turning to Tilda's room that lay on the other side of the corridor.

"Aye, Tilda?"

"Where've you been? I was looking for you and couldna' find you. I asked Hengrin where you were as well and she didn't know." Tilda's eyes swam with concern. Another, hidden part of her might have said _I was worried. I wish you wouldn't leave me_ _like that. Not like the dragon, or after the battle –_

"I was on a walk, Tilda. Naught to worry about."

"Your face is flushed. Have you caught fever?" Sigrid was used to Tilda's uncanny knack of noticing things rather not noticed and giving them a voice. Usually it was irksome, today Sigrid almost smiled.

She put a hand, unusually cool and trembling, to her cheek, unusually warm. "Am I?" she asked. That was not a valid question. Sigrid only asked important questions to which answers were important.

"Where've you been off to?" Tilda demanded, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

"The west wood," said Sigrid.

"Near the mountain?" said Tilda.

"Aye."

The corner of Tilda's lips turned up slightly. Sigrid felt a moment of panicked misgiving rise in her stomach before shooing it away. There was nothing odd in Sigrid's behavior – nothing shameful in her conduct, besides. She and him – they had merely talked. There was nothing wrong in that. Nothing that boded – nothing at all.

"What did you want me for, Tilda?" said Sigrid.

"Come braid my hair. Hengrin does it so roughly, it hurts." Sigrid did smile then, and walked readily to Tilda's chamber.

"Some sit at my feet," she bid, perching herself on Tilda's bed. It had been odd at first, each having their own bed and bed chambers when they had been so used to living in a one-room cottage. Tilda had used to sneak into Sigrid's and climb under the blanket with her when the night was dark and reaching, cold and lonely.

Sigrid had never minded the company, even if Tilda's elbows were sharp and she stole all the blankets. But at least Tilda had always done that. Sigrid had been used it, for it was familiar – unlike the gaping castle hallways, never-ending winding corridors, and unrecognizable man whom sat on the thrown, crown on his head and eyes unlike her father's.

It had been one year and a bit more since Tilda had last come into Sigrid's bed chamber in the lonely recess of the night. Sigrid missed it.

Her fingers wound through Tilda's soft hair, twisting it into plates. Tilda's head rested between Sigrid's knees as Sigrid had used to sit with her mother. Tilda was too young to remember such things.

"I hear the elves singing sometimes at night," Tilda said. "They cannot really be so far away as Bain says they are."

"It's their magic, Tilda," said Sigrid, "Or else only your dreams."

"Tisn't any dream," said Tilda.

"Well then, you know things echo across the lake. Perhaps they make merry on the distant shore."

"Aye," said Tilda. "When is Da coming home?"

"When his business has been concluded, Tilda, and concluded well." Their father was off with his company to a distant kingdom, to negotiate and discuss trade relations, things Sigrid did not rightly understand despite her tutors drilling. There was much involved in setting up a kingdom. And for a kingdom not yet three years old much remained to do.

"Perhaps he will bring you a consort?" said Tilda. "He talks of binding us to Framsburg, perhaps through marriage between you and the Lord's son –"

"Hush, Tilda," said Sigrid, "Tisn't any of your mind."

"Would you marry him?" Tilda continued. "The Lord's son? If Da should request it?"

Sigrid's fingers stumbled in their winding of Tilda's hair. She thought of her father and politics and all she did not understand and strangely, a stocky young dwarf whom had shot an arrow into a tree by her head only hours before….

"He would ask me beforehand," she said, her lips moving of their own accord because of course it was _true_. "He would not spring such a request before first discussing it with me."

"Then what would you decide?" Tilda continued. "If it should be your choice, would you say yes? To bind our realms – it would be something of a duty, would it not?"

Sigrid's hand slipped the end of Tilda's braid into a ribbon. She pulled it tight and Tilda squirmed. "You know nothing of such things, Tilda. Hold your tongue."

* * *

It was mid-winter after the battle and Sigrid had been buying fish at the market. Some of the town had been rebuilt but snow and cold had impeded progress. Sickness was beginning to set in.

"Ye should not be here, Sigrid," the old woman had greeted her. "Your father is above us now. Your family is royalty. Ye are not fit for petty errands like this."

"I dunna' mind it, Hengrin. I've always come to ye."

"Have ye not heard the talk, child? The people speak of making your father king – king of Dale, Sigrid. Ye shall be a princess among these people."

"I am no princess, Hengrin," her cheeks had gone warm, even against the bighting chill of winter's breath. "I dunna' wish for alms."

"Ye come from noble stock, Sigrid. Whether or not ye ask, ye shall receive it."

Sigrid's words tumbled off her tongue, "I am merely a peasant girl, not fit for great halls –"

"But ye'll have greater halls than the Master's nevertheless. A castle, Sigrid. The elder one from Dale. We'll rebuild it and it shall become your own. Ye'll see, child. Ye'll see."

Sigrid had brushed aside the woman's tidings with a smile, which hid the turmoil wakened in her heart. "Ye'll have a' come to tend us then, Hengrin. Me and Tilda, won' ye?"

Hengrin had laughed, her shriveled face crumpling until her eyes disappeared among the folds of transparent flesh. "If ye wish, your majesty. But ye'll have a' learn a' talk proper if ever ye be a daughter of a king, Sigrid."

Sigrid had not thought it possible then, when her father had only been elected Master of Lake-Town. But it turned out Hengrin's words had been touched by fate, and Sigrid _had_ learned to speak properly. He – Kili, his name was Kili and he wished for her to call him Kili, and there was nothing improper about any of it – had pointed it out to her just that morning.

* * *

"Sigrid," said his voice, and she started, even though somewhere in the back of her mind she had hoped – expected it, even. She turned to see him again emerge from the shadows of the trees. His bow was slung on his back, left in its quiver, his hood already thrown back from his head.

She opened her mouth to issue some greeting but discovered she had not thought what to say.

"Did you wander too far again?" he asked. Perhaps there was more a smile in his voice this time, but she could not rightly tell because beneath the undulations and accents of his words there was an unrecognizable lilt – something she had heard in others before, other mourners.

Her heart felt as if someone had wrung it out, and she gathered her breath. "I lose track of where I am going," she said. "There's something about the trees."

"I've been in other woods where it is worse," he said, and incongruently his voice fell further into sorrow. "I am glad of the work your father and the elven king are planning, of the repairing of the path in Mirkwood."

"Aye," said Sigrid, not knowing how the conversation had been led there.

"Thorin still doesn't like elves, much," he remarked.

Sigrid opened her mouth again to say something but again found herself at a loss for what to say.

"Your uncle," she started and then rectified quickly, "The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, he has done much with my father. The world is looking a brighter place for their armistice."

"Is it?" said he, lifting his head to stare through the trees above him, as if to check that the sky, in fact, had brightened. "The world is a big place to brightened by two kingdoms."

Sigrid felt her face burn. She suddenly felt like a child. She wondered what she was doing there, what _he_ was doing there and whether or not it was only to humor her whims. She prepared to hasten away.

"I'm sorry, Sigrid," he said gently. She could tell he was looking at her again, but did not raise her head to meet his eye. "I didn't mean anything by it. To me the world still seems dark." And as if he was shaking something off, "But it is unfair of me to lift my burdens to your shoulders."

"Come," she said abruptly, her tongue back to its habit. "It is dark because we linger in the shadow of the wood. Let us go where there is more light."

Perhaps he smiled. She still didn't look to his face. She turned and thrust aside the branches. She heard him follow her and felt something leap suddenly in her chest, something she couldn't place but made her throat close in. Something like the preceding of tears, yet not at all.

She wished for not the first time that Dale was not so far from the lake. She missed the town, and its docks, and its water. She missed the smell of the lake and the glint of sun off its surface. It was half-a-day's journey to its shores now. But still, she had been in this wood often and she'd become accustomed with its nooks and winding trails.

The bubbling of a brook grew in the distance. Sigrid breathed and her nostrils filled with the musty sent of moss and damp. She always felt comfortable near water, like home.

They broke into a clearing made by the stream. There was a thin trail of sky above them, peeking out from the parting of the tree's branches. Sunlight filtered downward in glistening stripes.

Water burbled over rocks and tree roots. Sigrid perched herself on a large stone by the water.

"Tis lighter here," he said, leaning with his back against the tree and staring at the stream. Sigrid was glad his eyes were finally off of her.

"We'd reach the lake if we followed it," Sigrid said, casting her arm down the stream to show which direction she indicated, even though he did not look up to see her do so. "I've never been because it's too far now, but I can't tell where else the water comes from."

"Perhaps it runs all the way to the Iron Hills," he said.

"Perhaps."

"Truly how do you fair?" he suddenly asked gently. "There's something in your voice…. You sound sad."

Sigrid swallowed. "But there is something in your voice also," she said. She was looking at him although she couldn't remember making the decision to do so, or to even speak.

He continued to stare at the running stream. "Is there?"

"Aye," she continued. "You –" she didn't understand. It was not her place. She did not know him. "You sound heavy – something that was not there when I met you before. You –"

"There are other things, as well, gone from when we last met." He spoke almost sharply. Sigrid's voice caught in her throat and she looked back to the stream.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice coming from far away. "I have changed. It's strange; I don't notice it myself."

"You –" again she was speaking and she did not know why, _how_, "It is only natural. I – I know about your brother." It was not her place_. Not her_ _place_. "It is only natural that you should grieve. You – you were very close. It is hard, I know…." But she didn't know. She didn't know why she was still speaking.

"Yes," he said. "You too have felt loss." She heard his feet crunch on the rock and dirt. She realized he was approaching her and kept her eyes carefully trained on the water. "I remember that you spoke of your mother."

"Yes – but that was long ago. I have known her dead longer than alive. She – she is like a dream, something I grieve for no longer."

"You might still grieve for something you never truly had," he said. "I never rightly met my father yet I sometimes still grieve his absence." He added almost bitterly, "and what poor substitute I had for his presence."

"You uncle?" _Not her place_. But the words had already leapt from her throat. This was not merely a conversation between friends, but the disrespect to a king of a different race, perhaps treason.

He didn't answer.

She felt panic ripple in her stomach. "I am sorry. I should not –"

"No," he said slowly. "It's alright. You correct, Thorin has been a poor substitute as a father."

"He is a king," she said. Thoughts she had only thought in half of her – a more coldly calculating part of her that spoke reason in the face of passion – leapt to mind. "Duty sometimes calls for unpleasant things. The abandonment of your family, perhaps, when the question comes to it. He does not mean to leave you, Kili."

His name fell from her lips without thinking. She barely noticed she had said it. She was too caught up in the notion that half of her still thought as Kili did, that a father was meant to _be_ there. She was surprised that a prince of dwarves might feel the same way.

"You are wise," he said softly, his voice bubbling over her ears as the sound of the water did. "Of course, it is duty that calls for it. Duty in the place of love, as always."

Something tightened her chest and her mouth had opened once again before she could stop it. Her heart was beating to fiercely to make space to think. "Maybe not always."

* * *

"Sigrid?"

"Bain!" she cried, and ran to embrace her brother. "You have returned early. Is father here also?"

"Ney. I've ridden on ahead. How have ye and Tilda faired in our absence?"

"Well, and you?"

"Well."

"Aye, and you have grown another foot besides." She smiled as she surveyed her brother, so tall and strapping and _old, _almost fully a man. The skin of childhood had molted so quickly. It seemed only yesterday Sigrid had been tending he and Tilda by the docks. He was so like their father in looks, except that his eyes glistened with merriment and good-joy. She remembered that belonged to their mother.

"When will father be back?"

"Another week more, perhaps a bit less if the roads are clear. What have you been doing these days?"

Sigrid answered, "Not much," and allowed herself a secret smile when her back was turned, ignoring the pulse of guilt in her heart. She chided herself that she and Kili were friends, just friends, ambassadors of two kingdoms and nothing ill besides.

* * *

"Here," said his voice in her ear, "Like this." Sigrid felt goose bumps erupt down her arms and back as his hand came to rest on her own, guiding her arm and the bow she held.

"Aim a bit higher than where you want the arrow to hit," he said. His voice was very close. He was very close. His scent was filling her nostrils, making it hard to breathe. He smelt warm and a little musty, something like the dark earth beneath trees. But it didn't matter because he was _so_ _close_.

His arm was around her shoulder, his head beside hers, his fingers on the back of her fist. Her mind flew back to the time on the docks, right after the dragon and before the battle. He had been this close then, too.

"Take a deep breath." She couldn't. "Be calm." Perhaps he could feel her trembling. "Pull back gently. Let the feathers brush your cheek." His hair was blowing against her neck. "Breathe again and – release." The arrow slipped from her fingers and flew through the air. It missed the tree she had been aiming at, scraping marginally against the bark and deflecting wildly off to be lost among the underbrush.

"I'm sorry," she said automatically.

"Naught to worry." She saw that he was smiling. "It wasn't too bad for a first try." He left to retrieve the arrow and when he returned he asked her if she wanted to try again.

She could still feel his warmth on her side where he had stood, guiding her arm.

"If ye'll help me," she said, "yes."

* * *

Sigrid realized she was smiling, and that she had been for some time.

"Sigrid?"

"Aye, Tilda?"

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere, Tilda. Just for a walk."

"To the wood?"

"…Perhaps. 'Tis naught to worry about."

"Da wouldna' like it."

"I'm safe, Tilda. There's nothing dangerous in these parts. I like to get out by myself, nothing more."

"By yourself?"

Sigrid felt her smile slip the rest of the way from her lips. "Tilda, 'tis naught to worry about. What's brought this on?"

"Sigrid, I know you've gone out before. I never said anything to Da because I knew that it was naught to worry about. But now ye go out every day. Is – is it a boy, Sigrid?"

"Tis none of your affair."

"Don' get angry, please! I – be careful, Sigrid. Don' become involved in something that might get ye hurt."

"Tis not a boy, Tilda. He's a man, and ye don' understand."

"He – he isna someone who would hurt you?"

"Ney, Tilda, I promise. He's kind and gentle and would never hurt me. Please do not mention anything to Bain, or to Da. For one, it is not what you think. It is not anything like _that_. We are – just friends, Tilda, I give ye my word."

"Be careful, Sigrid." Again the unspoken words that almost made Sigrid stop and turn around. _Do not leave me like the mother I never knew. Do not leave me like Da. _

"I will, Tilda." A swift kiss to her sister's forehead and then Sigrid was going out the door, back to the wood, back to Kili, away….

* * *

"I am young," said Sigrid, looking at the dirt, rocks, and twigs beneath her feet.

"We are not so different in age," he answered her.

"But you are still not so young as I am, Kili," she said. "You are a warrior among your people. You – you have always belonged to nobility, and I – I am still only a child."

"I'm only seventy-eight," he said with a shrug.

It was enough for Sigrid to look up. She felt her jaw drop open and her voice spill out uncalled for, "You – you are older than my father!"

He was smiling at her, eyes glowing in a way that she couldn't remember seeing before. "We age differently than men, Sigrid. I'm still little more than a lad myself, among my people."

Sigrid was quiet for a long moment. She was thinking about what he had told her. He was many years older than her father. She had never imagined that, even though she chided herself because she should have known. She had heard that dwarves aged differently than men, and lived much longer. But he – Kili had always seemed so youthful….

She now realized that he should out last her. She would be dead long before he followed. She frowned, and wondered why it seemed to matter so much.

* * *

"Sometimes I wish my father had not been made king," Sigrid could not pinpoint the exact moment Kili had gone from friend to confident. It seemed to have happened seamlessly and swiftly, something frightening if Sigrid thought about it. Frightening but enticing, strange yet exciting, always changing, hiding danger. But she could not stop. She did not want to stop it. "It was so much simple, living in the town, away from all this. He – he has changed."

"I wish something of the same thing," Kili answered her, sitting quietly on the rock beside her, by the stream again and surrounded by the budding trees. "I wish Thorin had never thought to reclaim the mountain. We might have been without a home, but we were happy."

Something in his voice told Sigrid that he spoke not of he and Thorin as the _we_.

"You blame your uncle?" she whispered, staring at his profile because he stared at the water. She was glad. She did not want to meet his eyes, yet something in his face prevented her from looking away.

"Thorin? No, I do not blame Thorin. I blame myself."

She opened her mouth to speak but she realized she had no words.

Kili continued. "Fili always protected me. He stayed behind in Lake-Town for me. He – he jumped in to save me after I went in for Thorin. He – perhaps he would have lived if I had not. I often wonder if there was anything that could have been done. I should have protected him as he did all the years for me."

"Kili – please don't," her voice caught in her throat and he turned to look at her, dark eyes seething with some inward passion, swimming with sorrow – with things she did not understand.

His lips moved and voice wound through her ears. "I am not a king, Sigrid. I have no right to be heir to Thorin. Fili – Fili _should_ have lived."

Sigrid had never been superstitious as some of the other women of the town had been. Mostly it was because her father did not hold with such nonsense. But now as she sat in the shadow bathed wood with Kili, she could not help feeling _something_. A shudder in the wind, something in his eye, his voice. Perhaps it was the ghost of his brother.

"Kili," she began. "I do not pretend to know your grief – your guilt. I – I have no words that would be anything but empty sympathy. I – for what little use it is worth I am glad it was you who lived. Should your brother have lived also it would have been – but your life should not be offered in exchange for his. You – are not interchangeable, nor a bargaining chip…."

She knew she had gone too far. She expected Kili's eyes to go cold, to spit at her that she was indeed ignorant of such things.

But nothing changed in his face. His eyes were heavy and sorrowful as ever. There was a pause in which the wind breathed around them and then he kissed her.

His lips were warm against hers. His fingers bushed her neck. His whiskers scratched her cheeks. Her stomach contracted, almost as if the half of her that breathed common sense, that told her she was a child, and a child of men no less, almost as if that part of her screamed for her to pull away.

But the other part of her asked _why not_.

It was as if she was back on the dock, younger than she was now and bidding him farewell before he joined his uncle. She had been afraid it was going to be the last time she would see him, and had hoped that he might kiss her then but – but his brother had stepped up and interrupted them and she had run….

Kili pulled abruptly away. Sigrid realized she had not been breathing, knew not for how long, but drew a shuddering breath. She toppled forward because Kili had jumped up from his perch, was backing away from her and looked almost horrified.

"I am sorry, Sigrid. I had no cause to do that. I meant nothing – I beg your forgiveness. I had not –"

"It is alright," her voice did not sound like her voice at all, but as though someone spoke far away, or an echo across the lake rebounding off the mountains. "Do not worry – I – I do not mind…."

"No, Sigrid," he said sharply. Sigrid's feet faltered and she discovered she had risen from her seat and was approaching him. "I do not wish to – to lead you on. I had not meant to do that. I do not wish to hurt you…."

"Ye could never hurt me, Kili," said the someone using Sigrid's voice. "Ye are kind and gentle and I – I…."

"Please, Sigrid, do not continue. You know not who I am. I do not ask for your love, because I cannot return it. I cannot love, not anymore."

"Your brother is dead. Let him hinder you no more."

"It is not only my brother. There – I cannot love again, not after her."

"The elf?" the someone who was using Sigrid's voice sounded brutally fierce. Tears stung her eyes. Sigrid could recall her clearly, willowy and tall, auburn hair and a voice that wove spells…but she was dead also. The male elf had knelt beside her on the battlefield. She had been found near Kili, as though she had died defending him –

Kili's silence bid Sigrid the truth.

And suddenly tears were streaming down her cheeks, blurring Kili from her sight. Sigrid was not a girl who cried. Tears were weak; she was strong, did not cry….

"But she is dead, as well. Please, do not hold yourself in bondage. Do not –"

Sigrid had not meant for this to happen. She had not meant to think of love. Love was not a choice. Love was not possible. She a human and he a dwarf, royalty among their kin – it was not possible.

"Hush, Sigrid. Do not cry."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I had not meant to. I should not –"

"But it was me," another flicker of a smile, insincere and laced with sorrow. "I started it, didn't I?"

"I do not blame you," she said. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hands. "I should leave."

"Please don't," he said. "Not because of me."

His hand was on her arm, the heat making her skin rise as though with cold.

"Forgive me?" he said, eyes glistening among the shadow on his face.

"Forgive _me_." she said in answer, and felt her lip quirk upward even for the aching in her chest. She wondered if the she-elf had haunted Kili's dreams as he had done _hers_.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's Note: I have posted this story against my better judgment. It started out as a miniscule, kindling idea that I ill-thought could make a chaptered story. I ran out of inspiration a few days in and was left with a title and a scattering of conversation and scenario pieces. I jumbled them all up together because I wanted to have some sort of final product. This was what I got. I don't like it but hopefully some of you will.

Expect one more, much darker chapter that may-or-may-not end unhappily and an epilogue.


	2. Riddles in the Dark

Author's Note: Here it is finally. I'm not overly enthusiastic about how it came out. Sorry for the excess dialog – much easier to write than narrative, especially when I don't really want to be writing at all.

Romeo and Juliet with a slightly different ending. That's a warning. Proceed with caution.

* * *

Chapter Two – Riddles in the Dark:

"Sigrid?"

"Da?" it was a childish name, used only in the privacy of their quarters. She addressed him as My Lord in the presence of others, or Father when he was not at home, and he was rarely at home.

His arms wrapped around her shoulders and his lips pressed against her forehead. Sigrid breathed deeply his scent that came from traveling.

"It is good to see you, Sigrid. I was looking for you earlier. Where were you?"

Sigrid felt her stomach clench. "Forgive me, Da. I did not know that ye returned today. I would have been there to welcome you."

"Where were you?"

"I was – in the wood, Da. I enjoy the quiet of the trees, the solitude."

"Without your maidens?"

"Aye, Da. It would not be in solitude otherwise." Sigrid fought the blush that ran up her cheeks. She had never been one to hide a lie. She was glad when her father's eyes looked away, evidently convinced.

"Be careful, Sigrid. It is not always safe for a girl of your stature –"

"I was safe, Da. There is naught in our wood that could harm me."

"Very well," her father smiled. "It is good to see you. You've been well during my absence?"

"Aye, and you? How do things bode in Framsburg?"

"Well, Sigrid. It is of that I come to speak to you."

Sigrid felt a trickle of something that might have been foreboding run down her back. Tilda's voice came back to her _Da seeks to bind us to Framsburg, perhaps through marriage_…. Sigrid felt her stomach churn.

"Aye, Da?"

Her father cleared his throat. "Trade goes well with their realm. Their Lord seeks to further connections. As you know, Sigrid, you've grown into a very beautiful girl – a beautiful woman whom comes upon an age –"

"Aye, Da. I know…."

"It's time you found yourself a consort, Sigrid. You're almost twenty summers, older than your mother was when she married me."

"Aye, Da."

"The Lord of Framsburg, his son is an able-bodied man. To bind our realms in marriage would be unutterably to Dale's advantage. He's a good heart, Sigrid. Ye'd be happy."

"I – ye've offered me in marriage to the Lord's son?"

"Only offhandedly, Sigrid. Nothing formally. I wished to talk to you."

"Ye wished to – ye wish it of me?"

"I wish ye to be happy and provided for, Sigrid. If it can be obtained along with the furthering of our kingdom –"

"Ye – you seek to turn me into a bargaining chip…."

"Don't speak nonsense, Sigrid. Had I known you'd take it such I would not have brought it up."

"Ney, what would you do? Would ye go behind my back? I am not a piece to be moved as ye will. I am not to be drawn into contracts and treaties! I am not to be _bartered_!"

"Silence! I will not take your insolence!"

"And I will not be given away as a closer to your contract!"

"What devil possesses you, girl? I come to you civilly and with respect. I expect to be treated in kind. Or is this the manner with which you treat a father just returned from hard journey?"

Sigrid's cheeks flamed. She looked to the floor because her father's eyes were glaring at her. She felt suddenly horribly ashamed, yet achingly conflicted because her father hadn't any _right_ – not to her, not to trade her willfully to other kingdoms, not when Kili –

No, not Kili. Nothing Kili. There was nothing where he was concerned. Nothing – and Sigrid's eyes stung as she made herself look back up and meet her father's gaze.

"I – I am sorry, Da. It was not my place. I – I am out of sorts. Forgive me."

Perhaps his eyes softened by a margin. "Naught to forgive, Sigrid. Perhaps it was unfair of me to spring a matter so important upon you on such short notice. Think it over, my daughter, and do not fret."

"Da," she breathed and exhaled. "I do not know that there is anything to consider."

"You refuse the offer?"

"I do not know that I can accept with easy conscious."

"How so, Sigrid? Is there anyone who hinders you?" His eye was sharp and piercing. "Is not my daughter free? Is not my daughter uncompromised?"

"Aye, Da," her words stuck to her throat. Her eyes stung. Not Kili. Nothing Kili. She a human, he a dwarf, offspring of kings. He was not an option. "I am – free. It is just that I – perhaps I wish to remain so."

"You cannot always remain a child, Sigrid. You have a duty. I wish only that you may perform it and find joy."

"Yes, Da." He stooped and put his lips to her forehead again. His smile was swift and fleeting, his eyes still stern, and he turned and walked away, boots hitting the floor with sharp, resounding cracks.

* * *

"What troubles you, Sigrid? You are downcast."

Sigrid looked up to hear his voice and almost smiled. "Naught that concerns ye. I do not wish to trouble you in turn."

"Do so. For you I do not mind."

"Ney," she looked to the running stream. "I thank ye most courteously. But ney, these troubles are not but my own."

* * *

Tilda had run away when she heard they were to leave Lake-Town. It was Sigrid who had found her.

"Hush, Tilda." She had held Tilda's head to her besom, soothing her as if she wept or had woken from a nightmare, although no tears ran down her cheeks. "Tis naught to worry abou'. Ye'll be happy in Dale. 'Tis a time for rejoicing, Tilda. No tears."

"I dunna' want things a' change, Sigrid. I dunna' want a' leave."

"But ye'll be a princess, Tilda. Isna' that something a' be glad for?"

"Then Da is a' be King, as the villagers say?"

"Aye, Tilda. The people have chosen Da as their ruler. We are all a' live in the castle."

"A castle, Sigrid?"

"Aye, the one of old. Won' it be grand, Tilda? Fine things all about us. Fine clothes, and good things a' eat. Always things a' eat. The children of a king willna' go hungry."

"But things won' change, Sigrid? Da – Da willna' change? Ye willna' change?"

"Ney, not if I can help it, Tilda. Ye won' lose me if I can help it."

"What if ye canna', Sigrid. What if ye canna' help it?"

"Tis duty, Tilda. Tis our duty now a' do as the people expect us. We may na' have a choice – but we may be happy still. I promise ye that. We owe it to the people. To Da."

"But what if I dunna' want duty. What if I –?"

"Hush, Tilda. Tis hard, I know. Tis hard, but no one said t'would be easy. But we've a duty still. We've our loyalty to Da, to each other. That will hold, Tilda." She ran her fingers through her sister's unwound hair. "That will hold."

* * *

"You might come with me back to Erebor sometime, might you? I should like to show you the halls and forges. It is beautiful there, Sigrid, regained all its past splendor and more."

"I fear I would not be welcome." She picked at the lichen that was dried on the rock with her fingernails. Around her the air was warm and stifling beneath the trees, a sign that spring was fully come.

"We might tell them you were an ambassador from Dale," said he, smiling. Sigrid felt her own lips raise, less at the notion of her being given such a grand title then at the sound of his voice.

"My father would never allow it," she replied.

"You might bring him along. It's high time we played host to the King of Dale. Perhaps I'll speak to Thorin about it."

Sigrid smiled again, something that withered quickly off her lips. Above them a bird lighted on a branch and took up a song.

"A thrush," said Sigrid, looking at it and letting her voice up her throat if only to distract herself from the thumping of her heart. "Herald of good news."

"We used to throw stones at them, my brother and I, when we were youths."

Sigrid reacted on impulse, turning to him so that his dark eyes caught hers and spoke, "How terrible! They're fair creatures. 'Twas their tidings that guided my father's arrow – else we might never have been rid of the dragon."

He smiled at her. "We used to, Sigrid. I would not touch them now." As ever his voice was laced with bitterness; it made Sigrid hands tremble.

The bird trilled and then took flight once more, disappearing among the higher branches of the trees.

"Why do you carry a bow?" said her voice again. She eyed the quiver of arrows slung on his back. She had toyed with the question since she had met him, but had never thought she'd give it voice.

He looked at her in confusion and Sigrid hastily clarified. "It is not a weapon I thought you should choose. Any dwarf. It is – it is light, is it not? Dwarven weapons are so –"

"What? Heavy? Unwieldy?"

"I'm sorry, I should not have –" but he was laughing.

"It's true. Many of my kinsmen favor heartier weapons, the ax and the sword, brute-force instead of stealth. I prefer a bow because it is – light. Delicate almost, yet precise. One cannot hit a target a quarter-league away by throwing an ax."

"A quarter of a league?" said Sigrid, feeling a laugh of her own bubble up her throat.

"If not for the trees I might show you," he replied teasingly. And continued, "My uncle gave me this one," his arm bent over his shoulder to caress his bow with his fingertips. "I've carried it always. It was once his brother's, whom died before I was born."

She wished his voice would not jump so swiftly from sprightly to somber. She wished his moods would not flash in his eyes with such rapidity.

"He is much altered. Some say he's gone mad. I don't know. He's certainly not the same Thorin whom embarked on the quest three years ago."

"Tis not madness, Kili, surely," said Sigrid. "Grief is a heavy weight, one perhaps your uncle has carried for too long."

"What then if it is more than just grief?" He said slowly, "That same blood runs through my veins."

"Ney, Kili. Do not speak of such things."

"I'm sorry, Sigrid. I try not to. I am much altered as well, I see. Forgive me. I do not mean to burden you."

"Ye are not a burden."

He looked at her strangely, in a way that made her recall the feel of his lips on her own. She hastily pushed away her thoughts, which had no place – not anymore, not ever.

"You really must come with me to Erebor sometime, Sigrid," he said. "Perhaps your very presence might brighten its halls in a way gold never will."

* * *

"Looks like rain," said Kili, staring above them to the clouded sky peaking from between the branches. "You can smell it too. And see, nothing stirs. All the animals have taken cover, even the birds."

"I'd best get back," said Sigrid, standing from her perch on the rock. "I'll not want to be caught in a storm."

Almost on cue a sweeping wind rustled the leaves overhead.

"Let me come with you," he said.

"Ney, I'll be alright."

"At least let me lend you my cloak –" and then came the rain. Pattering in a torrent so that even the leaves weren't shelter.

Sigrid felt her arms erupt into gooseflesh and she thought it ironic that it had more to do with the cloak Kili threw over her shoulders than the dripping of rain on her head.

"How far is it back for you?"

"I – I dunna' know," she said, ushered deeper into the coverage of the trees by his hand unexpectedly wound in hers.

"Then come with me this way. We're closer."

Her feet tripped over the ground as he was suddenly bringing her forward, clearing a path through the underbrush with his shoulder.

A stick slipped past him and shot for Sigrid's face but she caught it.

"I'm sorry –"

"Don't be. I wasn't always a princess, Kili," she said, clearing her throat in hopes of getting more air to her head.

He continued more gently, helping her over rocks and fallen branches. The rain rattled the leaves around them. Already the ground was running with water. Sigrid felt Kili's cloak grow heavier as it was sodden with the downpour. Kili's dark hair turned to matted ropes and stuck to his forehead.

His hand grasped hers, warm and pulsing with life. She thought wildly of twisting out of his grasp and running, unaware as she was of why her heart beat so violently in her throat.

"We'll go to the side gate, come." He pulled her gently to the right, pushing further into the grasping branches of the wood.

Suddenly Sigrid laughed. "What a mess we've gotten into," she cried over the drumming of the rain.

Kili laughed back to her. "Naught to worry. We'll be dry and warm in a minute."

The branches cleared and a brown and muddy path spilled from beneath their feet. They dashed into the clearing. Kili held his one free arm over his head, Sigrid did as well, hands clasped between them as they ran.

An iron gate rose out of the cloud of rain before them. A shadow seemed to fall and Sigrid stumbled to a stop. Her arm pulled slightly as Kili overran her and stopped in turn.

Sigrid stared in speechless amazement at the mountain that had risen from the darkness. It rose in stark greeting from the flatland they stood on. It's face was rough and naked, hewn stone of ashen gray. Its top was hidden in the overcast sky.

"Come, Sigrid," Kili urged, and gently prodded her forward.

Somehow Sigrid's feet tripped onward and they rushed to meet the iron gate.

"Who goes there?" demanded a voice.

"It is I, Kili, sister's son to Thorin, King Under the Mountain."

"Master Kili! What are you doing out in the rain? Who's it with you?"

"Tis a guest from Dale, Sigrid, daughter of King Bard. Open the gate, Stron! We're soaked to the skin."

The gates swung open with a creak. Kili pulled her forward. The shadow of the mountain was lost as they approached it, a white wall of stone that rose into infinity.

"Where'd you run off to, Sire?" a dumpy dwarf with an orange beard appeared before them.

"Into the wood, Storn, where else? I met Lady Sigrid there. She's in need of shelter until the storm passes."

The dwarf, Stron as Kili addressed him, eyed Sigrid up and down. She felt her cheeks go warm and hoped the hood of Kili's cloak might hide her face. Stron's eyes flickered to her and Kili's hands, still clasped between them. Sigrid had forgotten – she pulled away on impulse.

The dwarf waved them past. Kili led her to a stone doorway carved in the face of the mountain. Darkness lit by flickering torches met them. The rain drummed on the rock but ceased to reach their heads as they passed through the doorway.

Inside the mountain smelt earthy and damp. Torches lined the roughly hewn walls of the tunnel, casting a flickering light to illuminate the way. Kili shook his hair out of his face. Sigrid threw back the hood of the cloak. There was not a sound but the steady drip of water off their clothes.

"Come," he said, "we'll get you to a warm fire."

He led the way through the dreary tunnel.

"If I'd had my way I'd have brought you in through the front," he continued. "This isn't much of an entrance."

Sigrid didn't say anything. She had heard much of the splendor of the dwarven city Erebor, gold encrusted ceilings and jewels embedded in the walls. This was not exactly what she had expected.

They were reaching the end of the tunnel. Light spilled across the ground from the corridor ahead. They broke into a high-ceilinged hall and Sigrid gasped.

Gold did indeed encrust the roof, jewels glistened from the alcoves. The hall was wide and vast, the mountain hollowed with interconnecting bridges and glistening diamond floors. The force of it, the beauty, the glow took away Sigrid's breath.

Slowly as the light seemed to dim, as her eyes became accustomed to the splendor, she became aware that Kili was laughing at her side.

"You see?" he said.

"It –" she struggled to find the right words, finding her mind blank. She had no voice, no verse, to describe such magnitude, such wealth, such grandeur…. "It's beautiful." But it wasn't. It was not beautiful. Something beautiful was warped and ugly, paled in comparison to this.

"Come," he prompted again, and together they plunged among the catacombs and were lost among the finery.

He brought her to a hidden corner where a dwarf maiden led her away. He bid her get dry and warm and join him again to meet the king.

The dwarf maiden was a head shorter than Sigrid with soft blond hair that was almost white against the brightness of the hall. Sigrid knew not what dwarf men found attractive in a woman but thought the maiden was pretty enough. Her nose was large and had braids of hair running down almost to her chin, as if a beard. But her eyes were bright and large, and her voice sweet.

"This way, my lady."

"How big is Erebor?" Sigrid asked, looking to the ceiling which was lost among the crossing passageways and shadow of distance.

"Very large," the maiden answered. "Tis not all it used to be, not yet. But we've restored much."

"Aye," said Sigrid.

The dwarf maiden brought her to a warm chamber, heated by a roaring fire. She gave her new clothes which fit Sigrid ill but would do until her own were once again dry.

She was brought back to join Kili, whom had also donned a new cloak.

"Someone will have to notify my father," Sigrid said, strangely feeling awkward and bashful in his presence. He somehow felt much more like a prince within his kingdom, accompanied by the glistening jewels and gold. Sigrid felt horribly small and unimportant. "He'll worry."

"I'll send a messenger," Kili answered, holding out the crook of his elbow for Sigrid to latch onto. Sigrid responded automatically, telling herself the gesture was nothing more than commonplace respect.

He guided her through the corridors, talking little and perhaps letting Sigrid take in the kingdom around her. Dwarves bustled past them, taking little notice and evidently on business of their own. All around was the constant chime of hammer on anvil and the scrape of a sword upon the block.

The golden walls seemed to glow with heat. Sigrid felt sweat bead at her hairline. She could smell smoke and sulfur on the air. Her breath was hot and head felt stuffy. For all its magnificence Sigrid did not wonder that sometimes Kili fled Erebor, seeking the free gentleness of the open air and trees.

"My lady," said a familiar, warm voice behind her. Sigrid jumped for she had half-forgotten herself among the glowing jewels and majesty. "It does my heart good to see you again, lass."

Sigrid turned and felt a smile leap to her lips. "Bofur – My Lord," she curtseyed hastily. She felt Kili laughing at her side.

Bofur's eyes were gleaming in merriment. "A daughter of a king now, Sigrid. What else does fate have in store for you, I wonder."

She didn't know how to answer him, or whether or not he asked for an answer, so she only smiled and recalled to mind his fatherly, lined face. He stood before her exactly as she remembered him.

"Isn't she lovely, Bofur?" said Kili. "Caught her in the rain and I had to bring her in to see."

"Did right, lad," Bofur replied. "Tell me, how do you like it, Sigrid?"

Sigrid struggled to get her voice passed the block in her throat. "Tis grand – I hav'na any words."

"Aye," said Bofur approvingly. "Tis indeed. And how are you? You've changed since I last saw you, older than I remember. Seems I left a girl but now you're a woman."

"She is," said Kili before Sigrid could answer. She wished she hadn't. She felt her cheeks flush but hoped they might think it was only from the heat.

"I am well," she said. "And you? I often think of you. It's strange that we should live so near and not meet again."

"Maybe not so strange," Bofur replied. "We've both been busy, I reckon. Kingdoms don't build themselves and here we have two of them. But I've fared well."

"I'm happy to hear it," Sigrid answered.

Bofur suddenly chuckled, "My, my, Sigrid. You have changed. Talking like a princess and all."

Again Sigrid did not know how to answer. She recalled the kindness of his eyes and the steady warmth of his hand on her back as he led she and Tilda through Lake-Town when the dragon had attacked. She had often thought that he had the eyes of a father. His voice was warm, something comforting.

"I'll leave you two to get on," he said. Then he bowed, "I take my leave, Lady Sigrid. I hope our paths meet again soon."

"Aye, I hope indeed," said Sigrid, curtseying again. He smiled once more before he continued on his way. She and Kili did as well.

* * *

"Here we are. Look, Sigrid, and see the Great Hall of Erebor," announced Kili, spreading his arms as if to release her.

Sigrid ventured onto the gilded floor. The surface was rippled and buckled, as if the gold had solidified unevenly. It looked as though it was only a liquid masquerading as a solid, and that Sigrid might sink below the surface at any moment.

The Hall was cavernous. Pillars rose into the air unanswered, disappearing in the murky darkness above. And echoes. Her feet echoed upon the floor. Kili's voice rose into the air and replied back and forth among the pillars. Statues of dwarven kings long dead, immortalized in blood and gold, frowned upon her as she past.

At the head of the room stood a throne, empty.

"Your uncle – the king. Is he not here?" Sigrid said, finding it not at all strange that her voice had sunk to a whisper.

"Not at the moment," Kili's voice, spoken loudly and Sigrid thought brashly, reverberated off the walls, inlaid with diamonds. "He is about, somewhere. You will meet him soon but not yet." A shadow lowered Kili's brow. "I wish to talk to him first. I do not know that he will so readily welcome your presence as Bofur did."

His words sent a chill running down Sigrid's spine. For a moment she wished that the rain had not come, that she and Kili were still safely harbored in the wood.

"Come," said Kili, his voice suddenly terse and arm again holding hers. "We've seen enough of this."

He led her for a long time through the winding hallway and tripping staircases. Sigrid even forgot the unexpected menace she had felt in the throne room. At length he left her again at her temporary chambers, gone to fix things that needed doing.

Sigrid retired to her chamber and checked her clothes, to see how well they had dried and thought that she had soon need of leaving. Again she felt a shadow of forewarning pass overhead. She thought of her many times with Kili in the wood, how she had sometimes felt a presence….

She was sure other ghost lingered in this place, more than that of just Fili.

A knock on the door interrupted Sigrid's thoughts and made her start. She hastened to answer the call, expecting one of the dwarf maidens.

She opened the door and there before her stood a dwarf maiden, indeed, but one for whom Sigrid was not prepared. She was dressed in robes bedecked with jewels, embroidered with strings of gold, and glistening with other precious metals Sigrid knew not the name of. Her dark hair was speckled with white, as it had been when Sigrid had last seen her. Her face was lined, not with worry, not with sorrow, but with pride, haughtiness, and regality.

Sigrid felt her voice melt on her lips. She had never before set eyes on something so aptly named a queen.

"My lady," said someone, somehow. Sigrid wondered that it was herself and jerked into a bow, lowering her head to the front of the dwarven noblewoman. Her appearance had wiped away any notion of proper titles.

"Daughter of the King of Dale, I welcome you to our halls," she spoke, her voice deep and breathing of the same haughtiness etched on her face. "I am Dis, sister of Thorin, King Under the Mountain, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror."

"Aye, my lady. I – I remember you."

"You remember me?" she said, eyes dark and piercing. "Then we have met before?"

"Aye – ye came to tend your son after the battle. It was I –"

"You were the human girl whom tended Kili?" she intercut. An odd expression flitted across her face, something that might have been mistrust.

"Aye," Sigrid said on the exhale of a breath she had hardly recognized she'd been holding.

"Walk with me, Sigrid, daughter of Bard, King of Dale," she said unexpectedly, turning and striding down the corridor. Sigrid hastened to keep up. "Tell me. What do you think of our abode?"

"Tis grand, Lady Dis," Sigrid replied, "beyond the verse of my humble tongue."

"It is," said Dis. "Still, it is not as grand as I remember it. But perhaps things never are. Do you agree, Lady Sigrid?"

Sigrid felt that somehow there was a layer of significance behind the words. She agreed meekly and they continued to walk.

"And to the eyes of a human," Dis continued. "Which do you find grander, Erebor or your own kingdom?"

"Dale has a magnificence in its kind, my lady," Sigrid replied, thankful she had paid attention when she'd been taught to act the dignitary, "but it is nothing compared to the riches of your kingdom."

"It is well you think so," she said haughtily. "How is it you come here?"

"I – I was out walking in the wood and – the storm…."

"Yes," Dis interrupted. "My son has told me."

Sigrid's mouth was dry. She felt her arms erupt into gooseflesh.

"You were in the wood alone?" Dis continued.

Sigrid felt her stomach twist, the horrible feeling of forewarning falling on her shoulders in a way that almost made her stumbled. Her eyes clouded in the stammering, horribly nearing commencement of panic.

"I – I often go there. It is peaceful."

"And your father allows this? You are young yet, Lady Sigrid, not more than a child among your kin and very much a child among ours. I find it strange that he should permit you outside your kingdom's bounds with no guards."

"He does not mind." Sigrid felt her voice slip past her lips. "He would not permit it if he thought me unsafe."

"And my son?" Dis spoke as if Sigrid's answer mattered nothing. "He also goes to the wood often. You have met him on occasion, I believe?"

"Only on occasion," Sigrid lied. Dis stopped walking, her footsteps ceasing and leaving a pounding void of silence in their absence. Sigrid tripped to a halt, heart pounding in her ears. The corridor they had entered was dark, like the one she and Kili had entered by. Nothing lit their way but the flickering of torches mounted in stone. Dis turned to address Sigrid, features curiously warped by the trembling firelight.

"I wonder what you are here for. What do you seek?" her voice low, winding like the curving flames of the torches.

"I seek nothing, my lady," Sigrid answered, voice high but barely audible. "Merely to look upon your kingdom. To see for myself what I hear tell from the lips of others –"

"What others?"

Sigrid's voice stumbled. "Many others, my lady."

"My son, perhaps?"

"I," and Dis was suddenly looking at her, eyes piercing Sigrid's face as if sharpened by the smithies. Sigrid swallowed. "I do not know, my lady. Perhaps. We have met but only a few – He speaks often of Erebor, its grandeur."

"Does he?" said Dis, a challenge in her voice that made Sigrid's skin crawl.

"Your son is brave and loyal, my lady. He is – we have met but a few –"

"Have you indeed? Only on occasion"

"Aye, Lady Dis."

"I warn you, do not lie to me."

Sigrid could not breathe. Her breast rose and fell, heaved for breath, but naught could reach her lungs.

"I am Kili's mother, Lady Sigrid. A mother sees all, knows more than her children would think. I can tell by the way my son speaks of you, his eyes when they light upon your face. I warn you, tell me no falsehood for I already know the truth. Have you bound yourself to Kili? Has he given himself to you?"

"Ney," Sigrid gasped. "Ney, my lady. There is no bond –"

"I warn you, do not lie."

"I do _not_," Sigrid heard her voice escape her lips in a squeal. "I tell you naught but the truth. I beg ye –"

She was shorter than Sigrid. But half the kingdom was shorter than Sigrid.

"Dwarf woman are taught to work the smithies." Her hand enclosed about Sigrid's wrist. "We are also taught to wield the weapons they forge…Sigrid, daughter of Bard, King of Dale. I have already lost one of my sons, do not take mine other."

Sigrid's voice somehow seeped from her closed throat. "I mean your son no ill."

"You cause him ill, nonetheless. If he should choose you over his people, his people would have no part of him. We will not suffer an heir of men as ruler of our kingdom. Do you seek to tear him from his kin?"

"Ney," Sigrid's voice spoke. Her head shook, side to side, eyes not leaving the woman – powerful, regal, enchanting, fierce…threatening. "I seek no such thing. I – I wish your son no harm. I bid you no disrespect."

"You have much to learn of dwarves, child. Much to learn of dealings between kingdoms and races. To have a marriage between our races would be disrespect."

"I beseech ye, my lady. I do not wish Kili harm."

"If that is so you will leave at once. I wish that you and him no longer pay host to each other's company."

"I – I will do as you say."

"Yes," her voice commanding. "You will."

Dis left without another word, leaving Sigrid breathless in the corridor behind her. It was several moments before Sigrid, too, remembered where she was a kicked her feet to hastily flee. She was too tortured, even to weep.

* * *

She wandered aimlessly, stomach squirming from her encounter with Kili's mother, and was lost hopelessly among the labyrinth. She passed a doorway and paused upon hearing raised voices on the other side of the wood. Something in her screamed to run, it was not her place to eavesdrop, but then she recognized a name, and felt her heart begin to patter afresh within her breast.

"What is this treachery, Kili?"

"Tis not treachery. I love her."

"She a human?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters if you have any worth amongst your kinsmen."

"She's of noble stock. She had more worth than you know."

"It is not allowed. Have you no honor? To even think of such a thing –"

"Do not speak to me of honor, Thorin! You know not the meaning of the word!"

"Do not take that tone –"

"I am not a child anymore, Uncle. I will do as I please!"

"I am your King!"

"Aye, you are my king! And I your heir."

"And as such you will act in accordance –"

"I will do as I please," Kili repeated. "You have no hold on me. Not anymore. You have not my respect."

"I will not take your _impudence_! Have I not been like a father to you? Have I not reclaimed our homeland? Given you and our people safe harbor –?"

"You care nothing for me! You care only of your gold. You fear that a marriage between our kingdom and Dale would forfeit your treasure –"

"Enough of this!" There was the sound of rattling chainmail and Sigrid was sure the king had leapt to his feet.

"Enough of nothing!" Kili snapped. "You will not touch this – not her. You have no say, not over me."

"You are hard-headed as your brother never was," hissed the king. "You stubborn _fool_! Do you think Fili would ever have turned his back on his kinsmen?"

Sigrid's breath caught as footsteps sounded from the other side of the door. She threw herself to the side as the door swung open and Kili stalked out. His face was darkened and thunderous, perhaps hiding a stab of pain, masking the agony in his eye.

In his haze of anger he somehow did not notice Sigrid, and she quickly fled in the opposite direction. She felt as if she might be sick, and thought insistently that she wished to get away, away from this, these twisting riddles and hidden lies, shadowed threats. She wished to go _home_.

* * *

"How was Erebor? I am anxious to hear your impressions." Perhaps there was a hidden chiding in his voice. Perhaps his eyes were cold.

Sigrid suddenly felt horribly ashamed. "I did not think you'd have minded, Da. I – the dwarves welcomed me." They had not. She had felt their threat, their looming presence…. Kili's mother's spoken tidings.

"That is well."

Sigrid hesitated. She searched her father's face for any indication of what he was thinking.

"Da, I –"

"And have you thought anymore about what we discussed before you left," her father continued. "What of Framsburg? Will you accept their proposal?"

Sigrid struggled for breath and words. Without awareness her hand tightened to a fist around her skirt. "Ney, Da – I cannot. I – not with an easy conscious, I cannot."

"Pray, tell me why, Sigrid. What else binds you?"

"I – nothing, Da. Nothing binds me, I promise ye."

"Do not lie to me, Sigrid!" the sudden sharpness of his voice, the flash in his eye, made her start in alarm. "Who is he? This man whom has seduced you –"

"Ney! Ney, Da, I beseech thee," Sigrid cried. "He has not! He has not! I promise you there is naught disgraceful in our conduct. He is naught but gentle, and kind – respectful of me, and you, the kingdom –"

"So there is a man?"

Sigrid's voice caught in her throat. She felt as if her blood froze in her veins, her heart forgotten to beat….

"Then there is someone? You have gone behind my back. You have betrayed me…."

"Ney! No, Da, please –" Sigrid was aware she was shaking her head. Her voice scraped her throat as it spilled from her lips. "Ye do not understand –"

"I understand more than you know. Tell me, what is his name? I will not have a petty vagabond lay a hand on my daughter."

"He has not hurt me! And surely he is no vagabond. He is Kili, sister's son to Thorin, King Under the Mountain. He is honest and valiant. He is noble!"

"He is a dwarf?" Her father's voice hit her face as if a physical blow.

"Da, please…."

"What is this madness? A _dwarf_, Sigrid?"

"He is righteous and of the line of kings. Heir to a kingdom. Might we bind Dale and Erebor in the same way you hope to do with Framsburg?"

"There could never be such a union! It would be barbarous and unnatural – something defiling…."

"But our kingdoms are at peace –"

"We are of another race, Sigrid! The dwarven kingdom would never see a daughter of men living among their kind. And what if there was a child? A creature of mixed blood – a mutant. I will not have my daughter face such disgrace."

"H-he loves me, Da. And I him." Sigrid wondered somewhere in the back of her mind why she still fought, why still after everything that had transpired at Erebor. Dis's words still echoed in her mind – the king's thunderous voice.

"You know nothing of love! What is love that would turn from a father's trust – a people's trust, a duty to her kingdom –"

"What of duty to myself? What of my heart? What of my happiness?"

"There is loyalty only to your people. Your own being is of no circumstance –"

"But you said yourself that you wished for me joy – you wished for me I might find happiness."

"In the line of duty only, Sigrid. When I took upon me the crown I realized that."

"And whatever possessed you to take it, I will never know!" Sigrid shrieked, forgetting herself in her anguish.

"Nevertheless I did! I am your father, Sigrid, and your king," he said sharply. "You'll do well to remember it."

He turned and Sigrid said to his back, words overflowing now that his eye was no longer on hers. "What's happened to you, Da? You've gone cold." Her voice broke. "You – please, I beg of you, do not make me leave him. He has lost everything, Da. Do not tear us apart."

Her father turned and approached her with eyes burning as she had never seen before. "And what of me?" he demanded, voice echoing off the high ceiling of the corridor. "What of me, Sigrid? I have lost my wife, do you ask of me to lose my children as well?"

"I do _not_ ask you!" Sigrid's voice echoed along with her father's, higher and shaking. "You would not have to lose me!"

"Perhaps I already have."

"Ney, ney, Da. You have my love still. My loyalty."

"That of which you should forfeit at a moment's fancy?"

"Ney… no whim, no fancy, Da. I should never –"

"Then see this dwarf no more. Cast off any contact you have with him."

"Please, do not ask it of me…."

"Then be warned, peace or not, if he comes near you again I will kill him."

* * *

"Hush, Sigrid. Do not cry."

"I have no tears, Bain." Her lips turned weakly upward, if only to hope it might sooth the concern on his face. "See, my eyes are quite dry."

"I – do not take was Da says to heart, Sigrid. He is – ruling a kingdom is a heavy load."

Sigrid met her brother's gaze with difficulty, wondering uneasily how much he had overheard.

"I know, Bain. I know."

"You are unhappy?"

"Aye, Bain. I am unhappy."

"Ye wish to marry this – dwarf. Kili?"

"There is no hope of that, Bain."

Bain's eyes met hers, taller than she as he was. "If I were king I would not hinder you, Sigrid."

* * *

"They talk of sending me back to the Blue Mountains. Or perhaps to Moria with Balin."

Sigrid did not answer.

"They cannot make me go."

"They are your family, Kili." Her voice seemed as if it came from far away, as if it echoed across the lake and against the mountains. "I ask you to betray neither their trust, their love, nor their loyalty."

"You need not ask it. I do so voluntarily."

She had not meant for this to happen. She had thought they'd already decided there could be nothing – not love. She had thought they'd already decided it was forbidden.

"But why?" Her voice caught on something in her throat but she scraped passed it with little more than a pause. "What could be more important? You are an heir to the throne of the king! Do not forsake them for me –"

"But I _do_ do so for you, Sigrid. It is you who are so important."

"Kili – no. No, not for me. I am not worthy – I –"

"Perhaps to me you are worthy," he said.

"Worth your life?" her voice was raised, something she had not meant to do. The currents and notes of her words rebounded in her ears. "My father has threatened your head should we proceed, Kili. I – as much as I should – but I would not let him kill you, not for me."

"Your father would not kill me, Sigrid. His love for you would forbid it."

"Perhaps so," Sigrid could not stop herself from speaking. Her hands were shaking and words running off her tongue without contemplation. "But he should hate you. He should – he should perhaps find some other way of banishing you. Or your own people – they too would seek a way to forbid a union."

"Aye. They would seek some other way."

"And we could not flee?" Sigrid did not know why she said it. It was a notion she had pondered only in the deepest, most hidden parts of her mind. Her voice was half desperate, half confirming. Ney, the option had never been to flee.

"No," he said quietly. "I could not, Sigrid."

Silence fell. He still sat beside her but it was as if he had shifted. He was already leaving, Sigrid realized, already slipping from between her fingers. It had been fleeting, whatever it had been that they'd possessed, doomed to fail from the start. To each their own, duty and loyalty and there wasn't point of hoping – no more point of hoping as when he had been dying on the battlefield and she had run.

"You would have consented, would you have not, if Fili was still alive?" said his voice.

Sigrid could not – _could_ not answer. The world was too cruel. This – _this_ was too cruel…. "If your brother was still alive it would mean that you were not direct heir to thrown. Perhaps then your people may have had more grace. Perhaps then my own – Perhaps – perhaps, yes, then ye would have my consent."

"Then 'twas a bitter day, indeed, the hour the sword felled him."

"Kili, I –" She _what_? She was _what_? She was _sorry_?

"Pray, leave me, Sigrid, daughter of Bard, King of Dale. I do not wish for thee –" His voice stopped, as if with tears. Sigrid felt water rise to her own eyes, unaccustomed as she was at seeing a man cry. It was a sight she did not want to play witness to.

But she could not leave.

"Kili, I beg of ye – please forgive me. It is not my doing –"

"No," he looked at the ground, not at her face. It was the first time that she wished she could make him look at her, to hold his gaze in her own. "It is not your doing. It is loyalty, is it not? It is duty."

"Yes," she said, "Yes, this is duty. Duty is sacrifice. And to have loyalty you must have duty, and loyalty is everything. _Duty_ is everything. What is left of a person who walks away from their kin?"

"But we might build new loyalties, might we? Loyalties to one another. We might trade, lose but gain –"

"Loyalty built on betrayal? What would that bring us but more treachery? We would lose everything and gain nothing. There is no happy end for a love built on that."

"Yes," he looked up. His lips were turned upward but it was not a smile. His dark eyes gleamed at her from the shadow of his face. She felt something in her chest twist, tear, shred into pieces that bled – "You are right. And I would not run. I've never run from anything. I would not aim to start now."

Again silence fell and Sigrid wished to flee, anywhere but there, where Kili sat silently beside her. But Kili's hand touched hers and she even forgot to breathe as his voice came again.

"I take your leave, then, Sigrid, daughter of Bard, King of Dale. You shall forever live in my memory, a warm light amongst the darkness." And he kissed her at the crown of her hairline, stood, walked away, and did not look back.

Sigrid sat, alone – but horribly alone – for moments passed before she realized she had not said anything, not even to whisper good-bye. She had not even a last glance from his dark eyes to remember.

* * *

End

* * *

Author's Note: Yeah, sorry, sad ending. Somehow I just couldn't see it coming out any other way from all the things I'd planned. I hope at least some of you liked it, or recognize you sort-of liked it behind all the hatred you have for me now. Hey, at least no one died this time.

Leave a review if you'd like to formally declare your grudge against me.

And stick around to see the epilogue I'll be posting soon.


	3. Epilogue

Epilogue:

If the days were not so dark

The nights not quite so dim

The hate so clear, so close, so stark

If the time was not so grim

Perhaps this age might have passed

In a lighter time, we'd grown

The clouds would not have come so fast

A different end, perhaps we'd known

Had our duty not been so cruel

Had loyalty not been our lot

Had their voices not been so cool

For a better end, we might have fought

Perhaps we could have sold our souls

A death for death, for life

But then we would have been not but coals

Bred for fire, for ash, for strife

To each their own, breath and call

We'd never thought to blame them

A jump we'd planned, but not the fall

We'd never thought to shame them

If I'd been not such a fool

If what had been passed, could be undone

But that life had not been so cruel

Then perhaps we might have, once

* * *

Author's Note: Meh. I like the poem after _milis agus searbh_ better (again, if you haven't checked that out yet, please do).

Anyway, here we are at the end. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to all those marvelous readers who reviewed; I can't describe the joy you impart.


End file.
